


Dead On Arrival

by At_a_klance (TomAyto10)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Death, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 07:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10485900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomAyto10/pseuds/At_a_klance
Summary: Keith gets the call a little after midnight.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rubix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubix/gifts).



> Saw a Tumblr post on my TL this morning and quickly got angsty over my breakfast. Thank you for reading
> 
> For My Beloved Mana

 

Keith gets the call a little after midnight.

 

He wakes with a start at the sound of his phone, groans frustrated and reaches blindly for it. He doesn't bother with looking who it is, just slides his finger across the screen and answers rough and brusque.

“What.”

The line shakes with an exhale, static filled and sounding distortedly relieved.

“Uh. Hey, Keith.”

It's Lance and Keith feels another level of annoyance. Lance knows he has trouble sleeping at times, he knows that he struggles to push away the stress of the day, the weight of being alive when the night hits and when he manages to fall into slumber, he is not to be disturbed.

But Keith knows Lance, and the other man doesn't care about that, even though he has told him time and time again, Lance still begs for Keith to stay longer, to text into the night, have one a.m. phones calls, visits his dingy little one room apartment after he's tossed out of bars smelling of alcohol, second-hand perfume and gritty darkness.

So Keith almost hangs up. Almost.

“Were you asleep?”

Keith lays back down, squeezing the phone tight, growling back. “What do you think?”

Lance hisses, and Keith frowns. Lance usually laughs at any of his small misfortunes. “What are you calling for?”

Lance hums, his breathing is odd, shallow and rough over the line, quiet a moment too long. Keith would hang up, but something in his gut is telling him to stay, to get up and find Lance.

He ignores it, turns on his side and closes his eyes. “Didn't mean to wake you. Sorry.” and that has Keith clenching his teeth, has him frowning again and blinking his eyes open. What did he expect? To call and get his voicemail? Lance goes on, though before Keith has pieced together any semblance of understanding. “I just… need to tell you something real quick. Okay? Just pay attention.”

Keith settles back into the sheets, sinking into his pillow, ready to hear about some girl that is an angel on earth, or some guy that Lance got handsy with, hear him gush like he always does about those brief encounters. Keith sighs, covering his eyes his arm, yawning loud and trying push back the savage mix of irritation and hurt.

But Lance doesn't go on about anyone, he doesn't even speak for a long moment, and Keith can hear the rattle of his breath, the wet noise of his inhales. That gut feeling only grows.

“Lance?”

“I like you. As in more than a friend. Like… a lot. Since forever.”

Keith stills down to his ever-buzzing anxious core, for a moment feels lost in the confines of his own body, sucking in a sharp breath of surprise and sitting up in the bed.

“ _Wha_ \- are you…. Are you drunk, Lance?”

Because that is the only thing that makes sense, because _forever_ means longer than their six years of friendship, _more than a friend_ extends beyond their mutual and begrudging platonic love.

It's where Keith has lived for four of those six years and where he thought he would always be.

Alone. Looking behind the thin impenetrable glass of friendship.

Lance giggles on the line, delight and joy filled. “Yeah,” he says, and Keith feels his skin prickle when he can hear the upturn of his mouth, his lips curving into a free smile. He can picture it so clearly, that Keith lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah, drunk in love! With you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before.”

An ambulance rushes by Keith’s window and startles him but he shifts his focus back on the monumentos confession not a second later

“You-” Keith starts, feels pressure pushing out his chest and weight bearing down on his shoulders. He feels pulled and tugged, the words there, where they have always been, at the back of his throat held back his crumbling will.

“You don't have to say anything. I know it's like… weird or whatever. Don't. .. you don't have to-”

Keith is breathing hard now, he can feel the last four years unraveling before his eyes, years of wanting and waiting and hoping but never moving and he feels a burn of anger, a bitterness of regret.

“ _Lance_.” Keith tries, but he can feel his emotions upheave like a rogue wave, washing away any bit of understanding he had in this world.

“It's okay. It's okay.” Lance cuts in, but his voice is trembling and he whimpers.

Keith’s heart skips a beat.

“Lance? What… where are you.”

He leaps out of bed, stumbling in his hurry. Lance does sound odd now, he's been too quiet the entire conversation, too muted for someone alive like Lance.

Keith is throwing on a sweatshirt and slipping on his boots when he hears the ambulance.

It's not in front of his apartment,  he hears it through the phone and Keith knows.

The gut feeling twists, cold expands over his chest tight, his throat closes up and Keith grips the phone to his ear.

“Lance! What's going on? _Where are you_?”

“Gotta go, buddy,” Lance says, and Keith can feel his smirk, can see him force a smile, trying to reassure him that everything is fine, that _he_ is fine. “My ride's here.”

Keith grabs his keys and is out the door.

“Don't hang up. Lance! Don't- where are you? I'm coming.”

Lance doesn't say anything, but he can hear muffled voices, coming closer.

And then.

“Keith… I'm … I'm scared. I…” He coughs wet, a sick sound that has Keith shaking as he takes the stairs down. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry Keith. Tell everyone I'm sorry.”

His voice is breaking, and Keith feels his panic grow.

“I'm coming, Lance, wait for me, you hear? I'm coming. You-”

“Okay. Yeah. Okay.” Lance agrees, but he sounds defeated, sounds broken. “I'll wait.”

Keith doesn't get off the phone, hurries to his bike. The ambulance had passed by only minutes ago. He can't be far. The machine roars to life, and Keith closes his hand over his phone to his ear.

“Hey, Keith.” Weaker now, quieter as if Lance is pressing into his shoulder, whispering a secret to his ear.

“Lance, _I'm coming_ , I'll be there.”

“Listen, mullethead… I wish… just be happy, _okay_? Tell everyone I love them. I love you. I wish…”

“Tell me when I get there, Lance. Don't you dare do anything stupid.”

Another voice cuts through, male and professional. He rattles instructions, all medical jargon until he hears _multiple stab wounds_  and _bleeding out_.

Keith feels the earth turn, and the gnawing fear in him grows teeth and arms, becomes a tangible thing and swallows him whole.

The phone cuts out a moment later and Keith is on his bike, tires squealing in his haste, the bike rumbling with how hard he pushes it. He ignores every streetlight, can barely see with how hard he's staring at the road before him. He's going to make it. Lance will survive, and Keith will give him all the righteous grateful worried wrath he can, he's going to take hold of him and shake him and kiss him and live a life with him. Keith swears on it, he prays to any god, to every god, and he deals and bargains.

He _will_ make it.

 

  
When he reads the report later, he sees that he would never have made it.

Lance was dead on arrival.

 

 

...

**Author's Note:**

> No reference to the Fall Out Boy song intended 
> 
> @ my ass on twitter @DipuCXOXO


End file.
